


The Finer Points

by mysterymistakes



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25150309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterymistakes/pseuds/mysterymistakes
Summary: “Horndog, huh? Ouch.” Sylvain drawled, pushed his cheek into the crook of his elbow. It was true, though. He’d need both hands (and probably his feet) to count the number of times Felix had told him this. Sylvain knows Dimitri likes him, and Dimitri knows Sylvain likes him back- even if Felix hadn’t been part of the equation, the drunken make-outs at multiple parties should’ve been enough to clue them in.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	The Finer Points

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abellum (nishtabel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/gifts).



“You know, in hindsight, you really did this to yourself.”

Sylvain groaned and dropped his head onto the countertop. Yes, he did know he did this to himself. 

“Just because it’s true doesn’t mean you have to say it, Fe.” He quipped to Felix’s weird faux kitchen island. They’d cleared off a space for their so-called “study session”, but they both knew full well that not much of anything was going to get done. Sylvain sighed, pressed his cheek into the island, and stared out into nothing. An apple corer stared back.

“Yes, it does mean I have to say it. He’s my _housemate_ , Sylvain. I’ve had enough of hearing about how you want him to bench press you, and turn you inside out, and bend you over every flat surface imaginable, and how immeasurably sexy it is how he sits next to you in Hanneman’s bio 101 and doesn’t know the difference between a chrysalis and a pupa. He leaves his dirty underwear on the bathroom floor every time he takes a shower. You did this to yourself.” Sylvain, red as a beet, slapped one hand on the table and another over his face.

“He knows the difference between a chrysalis and a pupa!”

 _"That’s_ what you’re going to take issue with?” Felix said, elbows back on the table. He took a long, pointed sip from a light blue can. “I really don’t think he does.” A pause. “…Do you?”

“Yes, I do. I was there that day.” Sylvain pinched the bridge of his nose. “I won’t stand for such slander from someone drinking a can of…” He squinted at the loopy writing on the can. _._ “…Store brand, room temperature, unflavored seltzer water from a straw.”

“Not my problem.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“Wow,” Another long sip, “Slander _and_ incorrigible. Big words. Glad to know Dimitri’s been rubbing off on you in more ways than one- hey!” Felix snatched his can up from the table just before it fell victim to Sylvain’s fingertips. Sylvain landed with one arm stretched out across the island, hand hanging miserably off the other end of the table, chest pushing his open, but abandoned, sociology textbook into Felix’s open, but abandoned, copy of _One Hundred Years of Solitude._

“You’re no help! Aren’t you, as my best friend, obligated to help me in times of trouble? Provide moral support? A caring pat on the back, perhaps?” Sylvain gave him his best puppy eyes. Felix grimaced.

“How many times have I told you? He does the same damn thing whenever he comes back from yours, except he spews some shit about how pretty your eyes are and how smart you are and all kinds of other goopy platitudes. Honestly. It’s not my fault that you’re the one who jacked off to him first.” Felix slid his book towards his end of the island. “That I know of, anyway. At least Dimitri has the decency to keep his fantasies to himself, you horndog.”

“Horndog, huh? Ouch.” Sylvain drawled, pushed his cheek into the crook of his elbow. It was true, though. He’d need both hands (and probably his feet) to count the number of times Felix had told him this. Sylvain knows Dimitri likes him, and Dimitri knows Sylvain likes him back- even if Felix hadn’t been part of the equation, the drunken make-outs at multiple parties should’ve been enough to clue them in. Sylvain groaned into his arm. The feeling of being pinned up against the wall by Dimitri haunted him, his big, strong hands keeping him in place by his wrists, a thick thigh wedged between his legs and a hot, desperate tongue in his mouth, pulling back to kiss down his neck, growling low about _don’t you know what you do to me?_ and _oh, Sylvain, so good, so pretty,_ rough brick scraping up his back as he took and took and took as much as Dimitri had to give, left always wanting more, more, more. Then, like clockwork, Dimitri would startle and pull back in a moment of lucidity, and Sylvain would have to chase him down, tell him it’s okay, that they’re still fine, and then find the nearest bathroom to spill white over his knuckles as he watched bruises form purpled bracelets around his wrists, only to pretend that nothing ever happened. 

“I just…” Sylvain let out a deep sigh. The annoying thing was that, at much as he wanted it to be, it wasn’t just physical attraction. Yes, he wanted to taste every square inch of Dimitri’s body, but he also cherished the soft smiles Dimitri had when he was lost in a novel, wanted to smooth the crease between his brows when he was frustrated, adored the boyish, youthful glow he got when he spoke about something of particular interest. If Sylvain had his way, getting to suck the soul out of Dimitri would just be the cherry on top. “Ugh.”

“…Aren’t you tutoring him tonight, anyway?”

Behind them, the doorknob shook and turned. Speak of the devil, and he’ll come back from the gym.

In stepped Dimitri, all tall and broad and muscled. His sweats hung low on his waist, the hemline of his tank riding up just enough to tease at the hard lines of his stomach as he reached up with one hand to hang his keys on the wall. His hair was tied back, and he was on the phone with someone, using that low, quietly authoritative tone that, if Sylvain was being honest with himself, made him want to _obey_ , made him want to submit and please. He counted his lucky stars that the only class they’d had together thus far wasn’t one that required presentations. Dimitri turned, waved a hand at Felix. He locked eyes with Sylvain and smiled, sweet and happy, and Sylvain had to remember to breathe.

“Yes, of course. One moment, please.” Dimitri pressed his phone to his chest. “Hey, Sylvain,” he said, still in that buttery-smooth voice, “Are we still on for seven-thirty?”

 _That makes it sound like a date!_ Sylvain’s brain screamed. “It’s a date!” He said. Felix choked. Dimitri just smiled and nodded before turning back to his call and continuing on into the apartment, and his bedroom door shut with a definitive _thud_.

“He’s going to overthink about that for the rest of the afternoon.”

“I know.”

“Horndog.”

“You said that already.” Sylvain began to put his things back in his backpack. And then, because he’s mean, “How are things with Claude?”

Seltzer came out of Felix’s nose.

Seven-thirty arrived in a whirlwind of menial chores. Sylvian had just set the kettle on to boil (because he’s a good and gracious host no matter who the guests are, or so he told himself) when Dimitri arrived at his place, freshly showered and in a lovely, plush, cream sweater that made Sylvain’s own track pants and worn tee feel horribly underdressed in his own apartment. He seemed oddly nervous, shifting slightly from foot to foot, not quite looking at Sylvain. 

“Hey, man! Come on in, make yourself at home. Nice sweater.” Sylvain said, smiling wide and holding the door. Dimitri walked in with a quiet word of thanks, leaving his shoes on the plastic mat just inside the threshold. Sylvain stepped back in towards the kitchen to retrieve some mugs and let the door swing shut. “Chamomile, right?” He called to where Dimitri had sat himself down on one of the floor pillows around the low table in the middle of the living space. Sylvain could see the tense line of his shoulders, the mechanical way he took his books from his backpack to set them on the table. On the counter, his phone buzzed- a text from Felix. 

_I told him i’d kick him out if he didn’t make a move. Also tell him his sweater looks nice bc if he’d asked me if it was too much one more time i wouldve sent him to you shirtless_

Ah. 

Sylvain filled the mugs, dropped some teabags in, and sat to Dimitri’s left. He laid a hand on his shoulder, firm underneath the soft knit, moving to smooth it across Dimitri’s back when he jumped.

“So, where are we starting?” Sylvain inquired, sliding Dimitri’s mug across to him, taking a sip from his own. It hadn’t even begun to steep. They fell into conversation easily enough, Dimitri asking questions about traditions in ancient Sreng, Sylvain barely avoiding talking Dimitri’s ears off about each particular detail, but Dimitri remained on edge.

Some half-hour into it, a large hand landed on Sylvain’s knee. It was nervous, tentative, just barely resting atop the thin, slippery fabric of his joggers, and it made Sylvain’s mind go blank. Good he wasn’t saying anything, because he would’ve choked on his words, tongue tied. 

Lucky for him, Sylvain had years of flirting experience to rely on, so even if his thoughts had landed immediately in the gutter, making a home quite nicely among the racoons and opossums and slime, and even if the hand on his thigh was _so big_ and _so warm_ and _if his hands are that big then what else might be that big_ , autopilot came to the rescue, and he tilted his leg out just so, bumping their knees together and sliding Dimitri’s hand ever-farther up. Sylvain could play this game. He leaned forwards, arched his back a little more, dropped his chin in his hand so Dimitri had a clear view of the curve of his neck, the line of his jaw.

“Well? Did that make sense?” Sylvain said, watching as the tips of Dimitri’s ears slowly began to betray him. He cleared his throat, shifted on the pillow, but his hand stayed put. A nervous, excited warmth bubbled up in the pit of Sylvain’s stomach and set him on edge.

“Yes, thank you.” Dimitri mumbled, jotting down some notes with his free hand.

“Oh, wait, this is important,” Sylvain turned slightly, in towards Dimitri, and delicately placed a hand on Dimitri’s bicep. He squeezed, gentle, and the hand on his thigh squeezed back, nails making themselves known. Sylvain could imagine the little crescents, all in a row, and the thought sent a slow wave of heat spiraling deliciously through him. He did so love to be marked up. “The Srengi use fire in a very particular way,” He said, leaning to point to a tiny diagram picture in the open textbook on the other side of Dimitri’s notebook, stretching himself across his lap. “It’s a very important part of their culture. Since they live in such a cold area, fire has always been regarded as a sacred thing.” He knew Dimitri could feel his breath on his arm, falling across in hot, slow puffs. “It’s used as a harbinger of life, rarely ever as a tool of death. Thus, the single torch at the head of the funerary procession is emblematic of… are you listening?” Dimitri was staring at him, intent and focused. Sylvain felt as though that gaze cut right through him, icy blue peeling away all his layers of flirty façade. It was like a switch had flipped, and all his nerves had melted away. Dimitri’s hand moved. It slid up the rest of his thigh, thumb ghosting past his cock, smoothing up his ass and under the hem of his shirt to rest at the small of his back. It was so big, splayed out on him and hot as a brand. Dimitri leaned forward.

“Go on.” He commanded. There was no room for question. Sylvain swallowed, and looked back at the textbook. What had he been talking about?

“Alright,” he said. Dimitri’s fingers began to find their way below the waistband of Sylvain’s joggers. “That particular torch is emblematic of the sun. Funerary processions always travel eastwards, towards the warmth of the sun, so that the soul of the departed may-”

“Sylvain.” He looked back at Dimitri. Dimitri was staring at him like he was prey, something to be devoured. Sylvain wanted absolutely nothing more. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Why, Dimitri,” Sylvain said, finally, _finally_ moving to straddle Dimitri’s lap, tucking a loose strand of flaxen hair behind his ear, trailing his fingertips along the sharp line of Dimitri’s jaw, leaning up so that every word landed on Dimitri’s lips, “I thought you’d never ask.”

It was even better sober. Dimitri crashed into him with a growl low in his throat. He licked his way into Sylvain’s waiting, pliant mouth, both hands coming to rest on Sylvain’s ass, squeezing with a vengeance. Sylvain _melted_. His hands skirted over Dimitri’s body, travelling underneath the soft, plush sweater to roam the hard expanses of his chest, smoothing across his hips and down, down as he pressed forward into Dimitri, impossibly close. He smelled faintly of mint. Dimitri pulled back, a thin line of spittle connecting them. He brought a hand up to Sylvain’s face, to his jaw, turned his head this way and that like he was appraising a fine jewel. The spittle broke.

“So handsome, Sylvain.” He said, low and rumbling and _god_ if Sylvain didn’t want to just bend over right then and there. “Always so pretty.” Sylvain thought he was going to combust. He licked his lips, hovered his hands over Dimitri’s cock, looked up at him. Dimitri nodded. “You can touch.” 

Sylvain’s suspicions had been correct.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much again to Nat ([ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishta/pseuds/abellum) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/nishtabel)) for commissioning me! 
> 
> i can be found on [twitter](twitter.com/mysterymistakes) or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/mysterymistakes)!


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